


Song for Lovers

by SweetLateJuliet



Series: Edgeways [53]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Fairness, Fairy cakes, Fallacy, Fantasy, First Time, Fluff, Frosting, Frottage, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, and also, figuring it out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SweetLateJuliet/pseuds/SweetLateJuliet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He shapes relations with sovereign states and your commute on the A4, but Mycroft’s power is worthless for what – whom – he wants most. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about about it. Him.</p><p>Here’s one version of how it would go. There are others.</p><p>A fantasy in seven bite-sized parts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. No. 1 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft makes the best move.

I’m in Lestrade’s office to discuss Sherlock. I’ve made him laugh and my heart is aching.

There’s a commotion outside. A hulking man sidearms Donovan and lurches for the office door.

He draws a knife. Lestrade jumps up.

I assess instantly:

_ceramic blade: premeditation_

_intent: murderous_

_inside NSY: irrational_

_grip: throwing not stabbing_

_office layout: favours attacker_

_onlookers: no help_

_best move: protect Lestrade_

I launch myself at Greg and tackle him to the floor. The knife misses us by a breath and shatters against the window.

Lestrade’s tardy colleagues descend on the assailant. We’re momentarily alone behind the desk. My body blankets his and we’re breathing hard.

“Fuck.” His breath ghosts past my ear. “Thanks. You OK?” He runs his hands over my back, checking for blood. It feels like live voltage. “She said her ex was violent, but I never – . _Christ._ I’m finished with women. Too damn much trouble. I can live without sex. Sorry. Shut _up,_ Greg.” He squeezes his dazed brown eyes shut and grimaces.

I linger a moment too long, cataloguing every sensation for later. He’s too distracted to notice.

I finally push myself up and offer him my hand. “You’ve committed a logical fallacy,” I say quietly. He looks confused.

I straighten my lapels and leave without another glance. I school my features to austerity.


	2. No. 2 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg works it out. Eventually.

I next see Lestrade at a crime scene. I observe his affable competence from afar, but he jogs over when he notices me. My heart thrills to his smile. I remain outwardly aloof.

“That thing you said about a logical fallacy,” he says. “What did you mean?”

“Hmm? I don’t recall.” Impossible to say it to his face.

“Of course you do, that’s genetic. I said I was done with women. Heat of the moment, maybe, but not illogical given the circumstances.”

“Certainly. Very sound conclusion.”

“You meant something else, then?”

“I must’ve done.”

“What else did I say?”

“Really, Lestrade, am I meant to retain it all?”

“Piss off, _Holmes,_ you’re not Sherlock. Don’t be such an arse.” He winks to soften the words.

I am undone. I force myself to look away.

Suddenly his gaze sharpens. “I said I could live without sex.”

“Oh? People do, I suppose.”

“That’s what you meant. A fallacy that I need women for sex.”

My heart hammers. I frown and raise an eyebrow. “That’s up to you, I’m sure.”

“And if it was up to you?”

My lungs lose their elasticity. “Quite a personal thing to ask, Inspector,” I say coolly. I pretend to receive a text and excuse myself.

When I look back, he’s still watching me.

It’s a most positive augury.


	3. No. 3 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ‘Dinner’ doesn’t always mean ‘date.’ Sometimes it does.

We meet by chance in a corridor at the Old Bailey. Lestrade’s face lights up. I nod, stomach knotting painfully.

“Never properly thanked you for tackling me,” he says.

“Unnecessary. However, I’m exceedingly fond of fairy cakes.”

He laughs. “I was thinking dinner.”

“Must they be different?”

“Generally past six years old, yeah. How’s Friday?”

I nod again. It’s not a date, I tell myself. Rather, a heterosexual gratitude offering. Friendship, maybe.

“Great. Pick you up at seven at… erm… Parliament?”

I roll my eyes. “I don’t live there. But let me come for you.” Appalling word choice.

“Car snob.” He winks.

 

It takes me two hours to dress.

 

He enters my car smelling of bergamot and cedar and carrying a bag. “Don’t ask,” he says.

 

The food is exquisitely forgettable. Precisely how anything would taste sitting across from Greg by candlelight.

We laugh easily.

He has an extra shirt button undone, revealing sparse silver hair.

Our fingers brush in the bread basket and he doesn’t pull away.

Finally he opens his bag: Two gorgeous fairy cakes.

“Best in London, I’m told. But they won’t let us eat them here –” his voice takes on a forced lightness – “so you’ll have to come back to my place.”

My brain falters. But I’ve imagined this so many times that my acquiescence is automatic.


	4. No. 4 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg asked John’s advice. John said: Be brave.

Driving Greg back to his flat, knowing I’ve agreed to go in, is predictably miserable. I’m awkward and make ridiculous, inane conversation. He’s fidgety and quiet.

I finally pull up to the kerb. “Perhaps another time,” I say, knowing there won’t be one.

He studies my profile a long time. “I asked John what it was like. You know. Being with a man when you’re...”

“Not gay.”

“Yeah. Mostly.”

“And?”

“He said to imagine kissing him.”

My lip curls in distaste.

He laughs. “That’s what I did too. He’s a good bloke, but that’s just not on. But then he said to think about why I was asking.”

“... And?”

“That was –” he smiles faintly, “different. So he said to be brave.”

The words hang between us. I realise I’m not breathing.

“I want to try whatever this is with you, Mycroft. But if I… can’t, that’s not fair to you.”

“Is it unfair when you ‘try’ with a woman and it doesn’t work out?”

“No, but…”

“It’s only unfair if you’re insincere. Outcomes are never guaranteed.”

His eyes twinkle. “Are you saying I might be pants at gay sex?”

“How uncouth! I was merely suggesting you might be an awful gay kisser.”

“Walk me to my door, Mycroft. I’m a bloody good straight kisser. I suspect the skills translate.”

How auspicious.


	5. No. 5 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fairy cakes are consumed, to brilliant effect.

I walk Greg to his door. We brush hands with every step.

He leans in. I am drunk with desire and the scent of cedar.

He skims his lips over mine, feather-light. They’re warm and dry.

Except where they open with tantalising dampness. I clutch his arms and press forward.

He caresses my waist, then pulls back. “Come in?”

My grip tightens.

“Just for the cake, if you want. Shame if you miss that.”

“As you wish.”

 

I survey his bookshelves while he rustles around the kitchen.

He sets plated cakes on the coffee table and I sit. He sits, too, very close.

Without utensils, I gamely use my fingers. The buttercream on my hands feels provocatively impolite. But then I’m finished and there’s no napkin. My eyes slide sideways to see how he’s managed it.

He’s watching me fumble. “God, you’re posh. I think I might like being your bit of rough.”

He takes my left hand and licks the pad of every finger. My lips part.

He switches to the right, but now he’s sucking. Against my will, I groan. My cock stirs.

“There, all better now,” he says. “You won’t soil my shirt.” He reclines against the end of the sofa. His body is one fetching invitation.

His uncertainty is gone. The lust darkening his eyes is authentic.


	6. No. 6 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Too perfect for words.

Lestrade watches me expectantly.

Perhaps he’ll regret this later. Perhaps he’ll stop me halfway through. Perhaps –

“Mycroft! If I throw myself at you any harder, I’ll be physically injured. I’m supposed to be the shy one here.”

I stand.

I grab his calves and lay out his legs along the sofa.

“I think,” I say, savouring the sight, “that you’re really rather brave.” I grip his strong shoulders. Slowly, leaving him every opportunity to bolt, I straddle his hips.

“Kiss me,” he rasps.

I lower my head.

Too slowly. He grabs my face and pulls, straining from his neck. I drown. I burn. His tongue rakes mine, insistent, intimate, and sugar-sweet. I grind my face against his lips and smooth cheeks.

I press down with my hips. My erection brushes his stomach, and I feel his against my inner thigh. He moans.

I thrust once.

“Yes,” he growls, repeating the motion.

We rut against each other, urgency increasing, growing rough. I reach into my trousers to reposition myself. Heavy-lidded, he follows suit.

I shove my hand under his shirt and grab his waist. I dig my fingernails into the skin.

His mouth falls open and his back goes rigid. He gasps through his orgasm. His face is too perfect for words.

Sensation scorches through me, then, brilliant as the aurora australis.


	7. No. 7 (a 221AU)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All good things – .

I recover my breath against his neck. When I raise my head, I’m afraid I’ll see regret, or disgust.

Instead, I see Greg.

He smiles with swollen lips and rubs circles on my back. His silver hair is endearingly spiky. “So… that was alright on a first date because we didn’t undress, right?”

I laugh until I wheeze.

 

He asks me to stay.

He finds me an MPS tracksuit. We laugh at my appearance. I smell like him.

 

He makes strawberry waffles and licks syrup from my mouth.

 

He is overfond of my nipples. (Typical heterosexual.)

We walk the streets of London for hours.

He kisses his way down my chest and explores the male anatomy until I’m shaking. When he finally licks me, my vision goes black. He finishes me with his hand, then tastes my belly anyway.

He is older and straighter, so we pace ourselves by his refractory period and hang-ups. Mostly the former.

When he begs me to enter him, it takes so long to work two fingers in that his erection turns a dangerous aubergine. I stroke his prostate and suck him off.

We sleep just enough for aging men.

I spread his buttocks and teach him rimming. He shouts himself hoarse. I learn three new obscenities.

 

Far too quickly Monday morning comes, and the aubade.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _An aubade is a song or poem of lovers parting at dawn._


End file.
